


Ashes and Dust

by bluphacelia



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Anal Sex, Body Worship, Choose Your Own Adventure, Halloween 2017, Light Angst, Light BDSM, M/M, Sub Vampire, Unreliable Narrator
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-31
Updated: 2017-10-31
Packaged: 2019-01-27 06:33:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12575832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluphacelia/pseuds/bluphacelia
Summary: "You're not allowed to be here," he whispers into the night."You invited me. Anytime, you said," the voice replies, breath brushing against his cheek. --- Or the one where Lance hasn't slept well in weeks and he is plagued by nightly visits from his dead lover.





	Ashes and Dust

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Halloween! I tried something different! This is a choose your pairing adventure (remember those books?). 
> 
> So, go on. Pick who you want Lance to fall for. The one to push him down. The one to cause his heart to break. The one to help him mend.

The small room is hushed, quiet, but for the gentle tick-tock of the alarm clock on the nightstand. He lies on his side, arm wrapped around a pillow, squeezed tight to his chest. The air is sticky; sweet—he can practically taste it on his dry lips as the silence hums in his ears. Sheets cling to naked skin as he shifts, head burrowing deeper into the cotton and feathers. A single leg peaks out, seeking a semblance of cool. 

The clock ticks. The bed creaks. He is painfully awake. 

Eyebrows furrow, eyes scrunch up tight and the days play through his mind as though a dream. A nightmare. Sleep doesn't come. 

A groan falls through his lips as he shifts onto his stomach, then the other side, one eye opening just long enough to spot the blinking red light of the extension cord nearly hidden by the small nightstand. He fidgets, legs sprawling past the central divide, finally, finally meeting delicious cool sheets. It always takes him by surprise. The bed is suddenly cold; empty. 

Something rattles against an open window, a wind chime out on the patio playing its melody through the crack. He shivers, feels the small hairs on his back rise as he curls up in the sheets, pulls them free, cocooning himself in their cool arms.

The mattress dips. He blinks. 

He must have dozed off, he thinks, as he rolls his head to look up to the ceiling, just a deeper shade of ebony in the dark. 

"You're not allowed to be here," he whispers into the night.

"You invited me. Anytime, you said," the voice replies, breath brushing against his cheek.

He moves, away, arm swinging against his eyes, blocking out the little light that's left, only to see stars burst into life for him alone. "That was when you were here, but you aren't _here_ anymore," he speaks. "Stop haunting me". The words flow away from the disembodied voice, hoping the sharp rejection is enough.

Something grazes his arm, barely there, touch so close the small hairs prickle up toward the caress. He jerks his arm back, covers now pulled up to his ears; feels the growing heat in his limbs almost immediately.

"It was an open invitation," the voice murmurs. It sounds further away.

"I'll hang garlic around the doors," he threatens into the sheets. 

"You know that's just superstition." The laughter is a tinkling of something best left forgotten.

"I'll get a priest to bless the tap water." Now he's just making things up, he knows, but he'd do anything to just be left alone.

"Oh, you should buy a crucifix as well and mount it on the wall. It would bring a certain je-ne-sais-quoi to the space." The voice has moved up, towards the ceiling, the lilting teasing turned into a pretense of genuine intrigue.

"I hate you." His words are barely a sigh.

He can feel the piercing eyes through the darkness. "Hate is such a strong word, don't you think?" The voice is sharp, words turned back toward him. 

"Loath. Despise. Abhor. Detest," he persists, each word punctuated by a pause.

"I didn't ask for a definition." The words are a growl, threatening. He can feel them sink their teeth into his flesh.

Something moves over the covers, he can feel the shifting of weight to his side, close but just a tad out of reach. He curls up into himself, but just as quickly he straightens his legs, turns onto his back, arm thrown over his head, fingers splayed over his pillow. He looks up and then to the left, back to the now silent presence on his bed. 

The clock ticks. "It's so cold," the voice breaks the silence.

"Throw yourself in a fire." The words come out a bark, loud, in the still dark.

Words flow, smooth as honey as He speaks."I know you hate me." 

"I hated you so much." Knuckles white, he grips the covers, barely registering the ache, slow and incessant.

"Hated?" It is a question, tone rising up at the last syllable, almost a purr.

"What's there left to hate?" He sighs, feels something well up in his eyes. His arm comes down to cover them—to hide that non-feeling away.

The silence deepens. "I'm still here."

 

"But you aren't. You're not here. You're not real." His words are an admission, to himself, to the world, to the darkness.

"I am real." The tone is back to lightness, a soft chuckle washing through the air.

A shuddering a breath, teeth gnawing on his lip, he knows he's lost. "Everyone says I'm crazy, you know."

The chuckle is back. "Do you want me to prove that I'm real?" 

The silence stretches for miles. "You're not real. You can't be real." The words are barely a whisper.

Something solid brushes his hand. Something cold, chilled to the bone, like a thing thrown away and left out in the frigid winter air, for hours, days. Waiting to be found.

"You can't be real," he repeats, tears prickle his eyes as he pushes his arm further down to hide them away. Because if He _was_ real, his heart would burst.

There is a hand on his cheek, a finger stroking down his jaw and then, just as quickly, the touch is gone. Something brushes past him and there is the telltale click of the lamp. The light is warm, yellow, banishing the shadows into the corners of the room. Blinking, he can just make out the warbled edges of light peaking through the cracks as his arm rests against his nose. 

With a sniff, he brings the heels of his palms to rub at his eyes, bangs plastered to his forehead as he slides his arm up. And there He sits, pale as He ever was in life; hair draped over his forehead, shadowing his expression, locks curling against His cheeks, against His strong jaw. The man quirks an eyebrow, lips arching in a semblance of a smile.

"I'm real, aren't I?" The vision laughs, the sound soft, strange. He'd never been soft when He'd been alive. "Or do you need more proof?"

"What more can you give me?" The words are out, before he can keep them in.

"I'll give you everything." It's a statement. There is no choice but to surrender. 

A hand lifts toward the apparition as though through a will of its own, but he hesitates, still terrified He'll shatter at a touch. Fingers clutch at His t-shirt. The man feels solid. He always does. Every night.

"This is a dream," he whispers, eyes glazed, unseeing, as he stares at his hand wrapped around black fabric. A hand grabs a hold of his, gently tugging it free, fingers lacing together. The touch is icy, smooth. 

"Must you always?" The words are a whisper against his lips. 

He licks his own, tilts his head, eyes fluttering closed. 

It starts off a peck. Chapped lips, a slow press, a lick of tongue that is cool and soothing against the humid heat of the air. He pushes up off the pillow, sheets slipping past his naked torso, pooling at his waist. Fingers curl up into strands of hair. A shiver goes down his spine. A bead of sweat slips down his back. Fingers slide across his jaw, around his neck and he moans at the gentle tug at his nape. There is a brush of tongue, a tiny kitten lick, asking for entry. Another tug of his hair, harder, insistent, and he lets the last of his resistance fade away.

Tongue darting to lips, an inhale of breath turning into a half moan. He feels a tongue push past, gentle, sliding against his palette and then out, teeth biting, grazing his lower lip.

"I've missed you so much." The words are hushed, tumbling out, a rasp. Puffs of air brush against his chin and he opens his eyes. The dim light washes out His eyes to a steel gray as they meet his blue. It is enough to set him on fire. 

He pushes forward, lips seeking lips, arms latching to the man's neck as they tumble, back, back onto the bed. He's straddling Him now, hands gripping wrists, pushing them into the mattress. Transfixed, he watches the minute raise of the man's chest, slick swollen lips cast in shadows.

Shifting forward a bit, fingers gripping tighter. "I could do so many things to you."

There's a chuckle, breathless and deep. The bed creaks as he shifts, pushes his hands up, pulling the man's wrists along so he can grip them firmly with one hand, high above His head. There is a challenge in those steel gray eyes, in the small upturned pout of His lips, but there are no words.

"I could strip you naked. Tie you down. Fuck you until the sun comes up." The resulting growl is sharp. He shifts his hips, grinding down once before moving up, lips hovering over an ear. "Or maybe I'll open myself up, push down, ride you until you come inside me."

"You always talk too much." The words are clipped, rushed, mixed in with a fast inhale as he finds a nipple beneath His shirt, twisting it lightly between his thumb and forefinger, feeling it harden almost instantly.

"Liar, you love it when I talk," he says, hand trailing down the man's sides.

There is minute pause as he eyes Him, but then relinquishes his hold in favor of pulling the shirt up and over black locks, trapping arms in sleeves with an amused smile. "What are you going to do now?"

There is another growl of protest, which quickly slips into a moan as he refocuses, eyes keen on the expanse of pale neck, newly emerged from its dark confines. Bending, he bites down, hard, shivering at the sound it elicits; licks the mark once before grinding his hips down. Satisfied, he wets his lips, eyes roaming along His neck to His collarbones—fingers trailing along His chest, the skin smooth, defined muscles twitching at the light touch.

"Why," there is a gasp and he looks back up, eyes blinking, the very picture of innocence. 

"Why, what?" he inquiries, head tilting to the side as two fingers flick a nipple. There is another stutter, an inhale and His head falls back down.

There is a pause as he waits. ". . .I want to touch you."

"Nope, not happening," he says between nips, kissing down the man's chest. Then stops. Looks up, predatory. "And just for that, I think you should be punished."

The man twitches beneath his palms, a full body shudder at his words. Eyes flickering up to His, he shifts, grinds down against the already uncomfortable looking jeans, then pulling himself up to his knees. "I'm going to make you watch." 

They are lying across the bed sideways and he looks behind at his nightstand and back at the man, eyebrows quirking, biting his lip in thought. He lifts off and shuffles back, arm reaching toward the small drawer. It's already slightly ajar, revealing what he needs.

"Now," he says as he throws a bottle of lube and a condom onto the bed. "Should I leave these on—" his hand glides over the tight jeans. "Or should I take them off? Hmm. . .?" He hums as his finger reaches the zipper.

The only reply is another huff of breath and the clock ticking away behind him.

"I see you've learned your lesson." The words are accompanied by his fingers pulling at the belt buckle. He pulls the belt free; it's soft leather, a deep brown, notched and worn. "I wonder what I could do with this." 

Ignoring the whine of protest, he scoots forward, belt in hand. There is a hue of pink on the man's cheeks, a warmth that had been missing before. 

"Now let's get you out of this," he says and pulls at the shirt. The black fabric pulls away easily only to be replaced by leather. The belt wraps once, twice around His forearms, pulling them together as close as he can while still keeping them above the man's head. The tongue pushes through a hole to finally fix the belt in place.

There a soft snarl and he sits back to watch His arms flex, trying the bonds holding Him in place. They don't budge. "If you keep that up, I'll get some rope." The words leave the room quiet.

A breath and he shifts again, thigh pressing against His side as he pops the button of his jeans, slides down the zipper, one jagged tooth at a time. The movement is subtle but he can the involuntary push up toward his hand, the small whimper escaping through chapped lips.

After a minute of wiggling of hips and pulling, the jeans are discarded onto the floor leaving Him in nothing but a pair of dark gray boxer briefs. Bare thighs pale and muscular, each slope and curve waiting to be touched. Tongue darting to his lips, he swallows and feels another bead of sweat on his brow. It slides down, slips off his jaw, hitting his thigh. 

A hush falls, wrapping them in a cocoon of quiet, the only sounds the pounding of blood at his temple as he takes a moment to just watch, chest tight. Claws of suffocating pressure push into his flesh as he eyes the man's body, practically naked beneath his hands. Skin pale and chilled under his fingertips, the only color being the subtle flush on His cheeks and the newly blossoming star chart of bruises down His neck, His chest—he wants to mark Him. Make Him feel everything.

"I wish I could keep you here forever," the words slip out as he traces a bruise he'd left on the otherwise flawless skin. There is a grunt in response to the slight pressure of his fingertips. It makes him pause, flick his eyes back up. A smile curves his lips and he quirks an eyebrow, raking his nails down the long expanse of pale skin and eyes fall on the white lines morphing into red. There is a full body jerk beneath his hands and he moves His legs further apart before shaking his head.

"No," he whispers and lifts onto his knees, pulling at the waistband of his own boxers. "I think I'll make _you_ watch." Catching His eye, he pulls them down, slow, his ignored half hard cock finally bobbing free. A gasp, teeth biting into his lip as the sensitive skin hits the air. Eyes flicker back up and he drops them to join the jeans on the floor.

Their eyes meet and he can feel the predatory look curl around him, almost a physical sensation. The man licks his lips once, opens His mouth, but whatever He was about to say is swallowed up by an open-mouthed kiss. They pull apart, lips glistening. "I told you—I'm making you watch."

Without words, he straddles His waist, grabs the lube, flicking it open.

"Or maybe I should play with you a little first," he muses, bottle in hand. "I could tease your nipples, kiss your neck. Make you come just like that, without laying a single finger below your waist." The responding growl makes him grin.

Hips buck up against his thigh, grinding, impatience written in every movement and he can feel himself get harder just from the fervent look in His eyes. 

Lube spills over his open palm, cool against his heated skin. Leaning forward, his cock grazing against His stomach leaving a short trail of precome behind. "No, I think you just get to watch," he whispers as his own hand trails behind leaving a slick path of lube down his lower back.

Fingers fumble as he feels himself, the puckered skin waiting as he rubs. It's already slick and waiting, half opened up and easy as he slides in a lubed finger. A shiver goes down his back. it's already so hot, so hot as sweat drips down his arm, hand turned at an awkward angle against his side. Breath shallows in anticipation and he pushes a second finger inside. It doesn't even feel like he needs it, like he'd been opened up already that night, once, twice, more. A shudder racks through him and his head drops down onto the chest below.There is a rapid intake of breath against his cheek. It helps ground him. Helps him push back up, hand shaking as he fights for balance.

"Should I turn around?" he asks. "Show you everything?" His eyes are half mast and he can't help the smile that slips through as he watches the man's Adam's apple bob as He swallows. A third finger slips inside making short shallow thrusts into that blistering heat, barely one knuckle deep.

There is a stiff nod, eyes hungry as he pulls his fingers out, straightens, knees against His sides. "Now you know the rules. No touching without permission." There's a breath, second nod and he turns around. The moment stretches as he misjudges the distance, fumbles his reach, bracing himself against a thigh and swings his leg over to straddle Him backwards. There is a clear dark spot on His boxers and he has to suppress a sudden urge to giggle. 

A fraction of a thought crosses his mind as he tilts his head, eyes hazy as they glance at the closet wondering if it'll take too long to get the rope. The thought shatters at the soft bucking of hips. Scooting back, he leans forward, peaks between his bare thighs, cock flushed, leaking as it bobs happily against His chest. It's suddenly too much, and he has to look away, fingers fumbling, finding the bottle of lube. It snaps open and he pulls it down his back to his ass, squeezes. The liquid pours out, clear, cold, peppering his skin with goose flesh and he squirms at the sensation of the cold wet slipping between his cheeks and down his balls, dripping down his cock only to land on perfect abs. The bottle snaps shut. A low keen, cut short, shakes him as he throws the bottle to the side. The sound makes him feel bold, in charge, and he slides his hand back again, eyes catching hold of His before he pushes his fingers in. 

Two push in easy and it takes everything he has to bite back the moan that threatens to ensnare him—leaning forward, weight fully on his elbow, mouth working on a silent scream as a third finger finds its way home. Panting, he licks at his dry lips watching the strain on His cock, still hidden away from view. An intake of breath, he scissors his fingers apart as he leans down, fumbling an open-mouth kiss against the cloth. It's too much, his thighs shake, he can feel his hips sag, cock bobbing against flesh and he sucks, resisting the urge to grind down only to lift his hips higher.

"You taste so good," he pants. "You'll feel so good inside me." A third finger. A gasp and the need spikes further as a finger sinks in, accidentally brushing his prostate. Arms like jello, his forehead hits His upper thigh and he can't help but nuzzle closer to His crotch. "So big, hitting me in all the right places." 

It's getting too much, his patience wearing thin. A fourth finger. It burns even through the lube, the stretch, too fast. Tears prickle his eyes. It hurts. It has to stop. Blinking past the pain, he slows, panting—waits for the pain to subside. Something strokes his thigh. A gasp escapes his lips as the man takes him in his mouth. It's just the tip, a tiny swirl at the head but it sends a white bolt of lightning straight through his spine.

A moan rips out of him, involuntary and raw, fingers sinking in just a little bit further.

"Okay. Playtime's over," comes the voice. There is command in the voice, impossible to resist and he feels his fingers slip out and he slides down, lubed hand falling on His boxer briefs. Fingers tug at the waistband even as he feels himself manhandled down and over, a sturdy hand on his shoulder blades pushing his face into the pillows. 

"You always open up so nice for me." 

The voice is back, dark and husky in his ear as it mutters beautiful nonsense. Teeth bite down into his pillow and in a moment of lucidity he valiantly attempts to lift his hips. A large hand trails along his back, but instead of complying to the subtle request he's flipped over, maneuvered against the headboard. Heart rabbiting in his chest, he feels large hands slide up his thighs and with a yank, pulls him down flush against Himself. The silence sings around them. It shatters as a package is torn and he watches Him slip the condom on, holding the top as he rolls it down. The flow of the man's hand catches his eyes, glazed he watches as He leans away to reach for the discarded lube.

A breath slips out—he knows the bottle is practically empty, but the clear liquid spills against the condom and he can't help the pain in his chest. Their eyes meet and his breath hitches again. The man's cock is right up against his ass. A hand smoothes over his thigh, nudging them apart. There is a minute pause, a smirk and He thrusts forward. The force pulls a ragged sob out of his lungs and he can feel the sting of sweat and tears in his eyes.

Fingers grope for something to hold, something to ground him. So, he latches onto His neck. Pulling Him down for a kiss, but it ends before it even truly begins as his head careens back, in response to a jolt of pleasure. It's too much. Too much to handle.

So close, the onslaught fades to the back of his mind and he floats. Lips find his jaw, his neck, his chest. A graze of teeth, a suck, a lick. "I love you so fucking much." The words are a growl and a gasp and he clings on tighter, exposing his neck for more. He can feel it coming.

"Do it—Please, just—Do it. I want it. . ." the words slip through his lips in a litany of half coherent mumbles. There is a sharp inhale from above and he looks up into those steel gray eyes. Tilts his to the side—as far he can manage, leaving his neck exposed, eyes pleading. Breath broken against his skin—the man pants, hips still working, shallow now and he clenches, only to see Him throw His head back and hiss at the sensation. Hands grip at the pillow behind his head. Nails dig in.

The last 'please' is broken with a sob as he comes, head hitting the pillow, his fingers lose their grip on the headboard. There is a sharp tearing sound beside his head. Eyes opens, vision sprinkling with floating points of blistering light and feathers bursting out in a halo of white. There is nothing—he floats, not quite there, but adjacent. Watches the man slump down, mouth slightly ajar as He comes. Eyes flicker to His lips, His canines, the small drip of blood oozing where He'd bit down.

 

The wind chime twirls in the light breeze, tinkling its quiet song as birds begin their morning serenade. The sun filters through a small part in the curtains, spilling light into the room painting even the dark corners in pale warmth. He turns his head to the side. With a jolt of pain, he's suddenly wide awake, sleep pulled out from under him. His eyes blink open, bleary and unseeing, until they finally find focus on the swaying aquamarine curtains.

He pulls his arms out of the covers. A stretch has his shoulder pop and he winces as his back gives a sudden spasm of pain. A yawn and another careful stretch has him roll over as he buries his face into the pillow. The tinkling of the windchime pulls at him. He turns, rubbing at his eyes, then fingers scrape through hair before he stretches out wide, arms swinging to the sides and up until they hit the headboard. The morning feels just like all the other mornings had for the past two months. 

Exhaustion weighs on him like a shroud and he wants nothing more than to curl up into a tiny ball, but he'd promised.

He reaches for his phone. Fingers slipping past the partially open drawer of toys. Two missed calls flicker at him. Both from Hunk. He sits up, wincing again at the pain in his backside—he pushes his bangs back out of his face.

He makes the call. "Hey, you alright Lance?" comes the worried tones of his best friend. "I'll come pick you up and we can grab some food."

"I'm fine." The easy lie falls off Lance's lips and he slips out of bed. "Just woke up." He punctuates the sentence with a yawn.

"Sleep any better?" Hunk asks, the question crackling through the line.

"I'll live," his eyes glance over the bed, the corners of the sheets neatly tucked in and he stops. "I'll call you right back." He hangs up to an alarmed protest.

Lance rubs his eyes once as he looks at the bed. There'd been two pillows on the bed the night before. He was absolutely certain of it. He'd bought them all those months ago. For them. For Him.

Something catches his eye on the dark wood floor. A single white feather rests beside the leg of the bed, forgotten.

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know how the pairings work out and who you thought it was! I'd really love to hear your thoughts on it.
> 
> Find me at [tumblr](http://bluphacelia.tumblr.com/) and [twitter](https://twitter.com/blu_tweets). 
> 
> I'd also love prompts if anyone wants to throw me one, my inbox is always open!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Cold Hands, Warm Cock](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12581040) by [sleapyGazelle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleapyGazelle/pseuds/sleapyGazelle)




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